Guns to the Far East (9 page)

“Most certainly I am,” Phillip returned, without hesitation. He breathed a silent prayer of thankfulness, blessing both Lightfoot and O'Leary in his relief. “That's the best news you could possibly have given me, Doctor—believe me.”

“It will take time,” the surgeon warned. “Time and patience. You'll not be following Commodore Keppel up the Canton River for a good few weeks and nor will the brave Cox'n Spurrier. But I managed to patch him up—and God knows, when I first saw the state he was in, I had my doubts. So maybe I'll be equally lucky with this arm of yours. We'll give it a damned good try, anyway. Hang on, now—this will hurt but I'll be as quick as I can.”

His probe bit deep and Phillip winced involuntarily. But it was a small price to pay, he thought—a very small part of the butcher's bill of which his Chief had spoken with so much feeling. And they had won a victory which might well bring the treacherous Yeh to terms, they … even the double tot of whisky he had swallowed could not dull the pain of the cuts Crawford was making but he gritted his teeth and bore it somehow, the sweat streaming in rivulets from every pore in his tortured body. For God's sake, he …

“He's fainted, Doctor,” the assistant said.

“Good,” Dr Crawford grunted. “Now we can set the broken bone.” He worked swiftly and expertly, head on one side and eyes narrowed as he studied the position of the fractured arm. “Just a wee stretch will do it, I think … this lad's been wounded before. D'you see his other arm?” Bone grated on bone and both surgeons were sweating now. “That's enough, Andy … hold it so while I get the splints on … fine. He'll do. Mind, I'm not saying that either he or Spurrier will be as good as new—that would be too much to hope for. But given time and the devil of a lot of luck and by heaven, they won't be far off it!”

P
hillip's arm healed
slowly but, until the splints were removed, no one could forecast the degree of mobility with which he was likely to be left. Dr Crawford's warning that it would take time and patience had, he came to realise, been no idle one and he fretted increasingly at his continued and enforced inaction.

Following the successful attack on the Chinese war junks in Fatshan Creek, Commodore Keppel consolidated his position by taking the fort at Chuenpee. With seventeen ships, the Royal Navy now controlled the Canton River from the Macao Fort to the newly captured stronghold—a distance of forty miles—with all intervening forts disarmed or destroyed. Apart from the occasional chase after isolated junks, there was little to be done until such time as operations could be undertaken against Canton itself. Of this, Phillip was repeatedly told by his various visitors, there was no prospect until the arrival of Lord Elgin, the British Plenipotentiary, which was expected early in July.

“You're not missing anything,” Jim Goodenough assured him. “Except heat and flies. We had a brush with a pirate the other day—she was a beautiful fast boat, with twenty-six oars, mounting two 32-pounders and gingalls on swivels. But she only put up a token resistance and when young Montagu boarded her, with six men, her entire crew bolted! Still, that was fun while it lasted and I won't pretend I'm not enjoying being in command of the
Hong Kong
in your absence.” The
Raleigh
's former First Lieutenant grinned at him happily. “Although Chuenpee was a washout. The Chief was hoping for a good scrap but the Chinese just let us walk in. They've learnt their lesson, I suppose, after the drubbing we gave them at Fatshan and in Escape Creek. Perhaps they'll defend Canton, though—
if
we ever attack the place.”

“Don't you think we will?” Phillip asked eagerly.

Goodenough shrugged. “The Chief's afraid we won't for political reasons, unless the other Treaty Powers back us up. You'll have heard, no doubt, that he and the Master stood trial for the loss of
Raleigh—
last Friday, on board the
Sybille?
They were both honourably acquitted, of course, and the Chief put up a capital show … attended in immaculate full dress, wearing every Order and medal he possesses and made a most impressive and dignified speech, in which he never once alluded to himself. The Court were almost apologetic when they returned his sword to him … you should have seen Elliott's face! Our Commodore is the hero of the hour and yet—” Goodenough's face clouded over—“and yet he talks of going home.”

“Going home? For heaven's sake, Jim, why?” Phillip was stunned.

“He hasn't taken me into his confidence,” his visitor confessed. “But I gather that, for some reason the First Lord has expressed official disapproval of his being appointed Second-in-Command—and I believe the loss of our poor
Raleigh
is being made the excuse. She's been written off, you know—the Admiral felt he couldn't accept any tender to raise her.”

“But if the court martial exonerated Keppel—” Phillip began indignantly, “Then surely—”

“Quite so, Phillip.” Goodenough's tone was dry. “But it seems the First Lord didn't wait for the findings of the court martial. I could be wrong, of course, but during the past few days I've had the impression that the Chief had made up his mind that he intends to throw his hand in out here. He obviously can't serve under Elliott—he's the senior Captain on the Navy List, due for his step up to Flag-rank … unless the First Lord queers his pitch.”

“Perhaps he feels he'll have a better chance of setting matters to rights if he goes home. Or he may regard it as the honourable thing to do—you know what he's like on the subject of honour.”

Lieutenant Goodenough nodded. “Indeed I do. And he
is
being stabbed in the back. I—” he hesitated. “Strictly between ourselves, Phillip, it did occur to me to wonder whether Elliott might have put his oar in … what do you think?”

Phillip considered the question, frowning. Commodore Elliott certainly hadn't liked relinquishing his command but … He shook his head decisively. “I'm quite sure he wouldn't stoop to such tactics. In any case, Jim, our Chief and Admiral Seymour have been friends all their lives—their families too. The Admiral wouldn't allow it and I don't imagine
he
wants Keppel to go home.”

“No, he doesn't, that's very true. You should have seen the letter he wrote the Chief after the Fatshan affair. It was positively glowing! And immediately after the court martial, he left Keppel in command of the Canton River, when he came back here to consult with Sir John Bowring and Consul Parkes.”

“Then the back-stabbing is being done at home,” Phillip asserted.

“It does look that way,” Goodenough agreed regretfully. “And if it means the Chief really is going then I, for one, won't feel much like staying, I can tell you. Perhaps, if this trouble in India gets worse, we may have the chance to volunteer for service there. Or even—”

Phillip stared at him blankly. “Trouble in India—
what
trouble in India, Jim?”

“You haven't heard?”

“No—for God's sake, one hears nothing incarcerated in this blasted sick bay! Tell me about it, please.”

“There's not a lot to tell,” Jim Goodenough confessed. “But rumour is rife—how reliable it is I have no idea. From what I can gather, the sepoys in the Bengal Army are threatening mutiny—some regiments have had to be disbanded and some, it appears, have actually murdered their officers and attacked British stations. They—”

“In Oudh?” Phillip put in sharply.

“I don't know about Oudh, Phillip. You have married sisters there, haven't you?”

“Yes, two. They're both in Lucknow, I believe.”

Goodenough eyed him sympathetically. “I've heard nothing specific about Lucknow. The most alarming news—which
has
been confirmed—is that Delhi was seized nearly a month ago by mutineers from Meerut, joined by the native garrison, and that they've restored the old Mogul Emperor to his throne …” He gave what details he could and Phillip listened with shocked dismay.

“Surely our people are making every effort to recapture Delhi? They
must
be!”

“Yes, I think they are. There's been mention of a column on its way from the hills but European troops are very thin on the ground and India, as you know, is a pretty vast country. That's why—” again Jim Goodenough hesitated. “Well, that's why I thought there might be something doing there for us. Especially if the rumour—that troops intended for China, are to be diverted to India—proves to be true. It's a very persistent rumour, Phillip, so it may well be true and if it is, it'll mean that our operations here will be virtually at a standstill. We can't take—and certainly can't hold—Canton without troops, can we?”

“No, I don't suppose we can.” Phillip's brain was racing. He had heard nothing from either Harriet or Lavinia since his arrival on the China Station—they probably did not know where he was and would not know, until his mother or the old Admiral wrote to tell them.

In the last letter he had received from home—written seven weeks ago—his mother had mentioned that Lavinia hoped to accompany her husband and his regiment to Lucknow, and that Harriet planned to join them there, with the children, as soon as she could. But such plans might have had to be abandoned or changed under the threat of mutiny by the Company's sepoys. Harriet's husband had been promoted to command of his Native Infantry regiment and posted to one of the many isolated Oudh out-stations, some distance from Lucknow—a station with an entirely native garrison. God only knew what the consequences would be, if the sepoys there rose in mutiny … He expelled his breath in a sigh of frustration, inwardly cursing his own helplessness and the wound which had incapacitated him. Tom's was a Queen's regiment, of course, so that Lucknow should be reasonably safe … pray heaven that Harriet and her family
had
taken refuge there, if there were any danger of the mutiny becoming widespread.

“Jim,” he demanded urgently. “Have you heard anything definite about naval ships being sent to India from here?”

Jim Goodenough shook his head. “Nothing, I'm afraid. There's talk of it, of course, but it's all very vague and we don't know for certain yet whether troops
are
to be diverted to India. I imagine decision will be postponed until Lord Elgin gets here, don't you? The
Shannon
's to bring him from Singapore and presumably she'll bring the mail from India as well. Then we may know how bad the situation really is.” He rose to take his leave. “Well, duty calls—it's back up the river with the Commodore tonight for us. I hope that arm of yours will heal soon, Phillip—and without ill-effects. How much longer are they keeping you here, have you any notion?”

“Crawford won't commit himself. But he's promised to permit me to go to Macao to convalesce as soon as he's satisfied that the arm won't have to come off. A wealthy British merchant here, whose name is Dent, has apparently offered his house in Macao for the use of wounded officers. The air there is supposed to be more salubrious than it is here. I can hardly wait to sample it! Thanks for coming to see me, Jim, and for bringing me up to date with the news.” Phillip wrung his visitor's hand. “Good luck up river … and please convey my respectful greetings to the Chief. And to Turnour and the others, if you see them.”

During the next two weeks, Phillip—although his arm continued to heal much to Surgeon Crawford's satisfaction—found the time hanging very heavily, with anxiety added to his earlier frustration. The wildest rumours concerning the trouble in India were bandied about and, although many were subsequently discounted, the rest, received from more reliable sources, were alarming enough. Cawnpore was reported under siege by mutineers; troops from Persia and Burma were being recalled for the purpose, it was said, not only of going to the aid of beleagured up-country garrisons, but of defending Calcutta itself, and Sir Henry Lawrence, Chief Commissioner of Oudh, was believed to be making preparations to hold Lucknow against an overwhelming rebel force.

The mail from England—even that sent by the overland route—was weeks out of date and of little help in sifting fact from panic fears. Phillip had letters from his father and mother but these told him nothing, and a brief missive from Graham, written on his way out to India and posted in Capetown, gave details only of his pleasure in his new command and of his eagerness to reach his destination, so that he might purchase a house in Calcutta and, with Catriona, settle down to “regular married life.”

On 28th June, thankful to be free, at last, of medical supervision and the soul-destroying routine and restrictions of the sick bay, Phillip crossed to Macao with two other convalescent officers from the naval hospital to occupy the comfortable quarters put at their disposal by the generous Mr Dent. Thanks to the connivance of Surgeon Crawford, they took Spurrier with them—officially as their steward and accompanied, as always, by the little terrier, Mike—and the change, both of air and of the surroundings, did them all good. The foreign residents of Macao offered them hospitality and a warm welcome; they were showered with invitations to luncheons, dinners, and receptions, and Phillip would have enjoyed himself had it not been for the anxiety which plagued him and the dearth of reliable information as to what was happening in India.

The steam frigate
Shannon
entered Hong Kong Harbour on the evening of 2nd July, her guns booming out in salute and, within half an hour of her arrival, Admiral Seymour went on board to greet the new British plenipotentiary. In addition to the Earl of Elgin and his suite, she brought mail and the latest news from Calcutta. The news, as Phillip had feared it would be, was bad and it travelled fast. Over dinner at the sumptuous residence of one of Mr Dent's associates, he listened to a horrifying account of the rebels' seizure of Delhi where, it seemed, mutinous sepoys and the King's retainers had led the scum of the native bazaars in an orgy of murder and arson. No mercy had been shown, even to the helpless; women and children had been savagely done to death, hundreds of native, as well as white, Christians had been slaughtered, and the Commissioner shot down when attempting to reason with the mob.